


Embedded

by esteri_ivy



Series: Embedded & After [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jon And Dany Are Rival Campaign Embeds, Modern AU, Seriously They're Just Politics Reporters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 18:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteri_ivy/pseuds/esteri_ivy
Summary: Her eye twitched. Daenerys Targaryen had beaten out more than a hundred applicants to become Dragonstone News’s presidential campaign embed, and Jon Snow had literally gotten his job by mistake. / OR: Jon and Dany are rival politics reporters. Modern AU. Smut.





	Embedded

**Author's Note:**

> NO ONE:  
ABSOLUTELY NO ONE:  
NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON:  
ME: Hey, what if we had a Jonerys fic where they're campaigns and elections reporters??
> 
> (Inumbrare Ch. 5 expected this week, but I was on a roll with this sideshow, so here we are.)

* * *

**DANY**

If Robert Baratheon was any good at being president, he would be in his office at the Red Keep, dealing with Dorne’s worst drought in a generation.  But it seemed in the battle between holding rallies for his re-election and _actual_ governing, the circus won by a landslide.

President Baratheon had hosted his fourth rally in just 10 days when DSN decided it was time to launch her into the field... six moons earlier than planned.

It was a year and a half out from election night — 50 percent more time than she’d expected to be away — but with the incumbent and his proxies back on the trail, there was little choice for news outlets than to send their political embeds out.

Eighteen moons away from home. A lifetime. The Dany of 18 moons prior had been a different woman. For just one moment, she hesitated, wondering who she'd be when she returned.

But then the moment passed, and she waved away her boss’s questions. Dany had dreamed of being a network road warrior since childhood. Her older brother had been one, and it had launched his career into the stratosphere. There was no way she would give up this opportunity over something as paltry as extra time on the trail.

Dany arrived in Storm's End before any of the other embeds, camera-ready, with her absolutely-maxed-out-but-still-airline-compliant bag in tow. 

Being first on the scene had a nice ring to it.

But that had been three days ago.

The last of the 20-somethings had arrived just that morning; and as Dany surveyed the group, she felt reasonably confident about her odds of scooping them.

Each election, seven of the biggest media companies in Westeros sent the cream of their crop to cover the incumbent — along with one prominent Essosi network, which had sent an international correspondent to cover the last three straight contests. This year, for the first time, one of Westeros’s most prominent podcasters had managed to talk his way into the press pool.

The nine of them would be stuck with one another nearly every day for the next 18 moons: Tyene Sand from Sun News; Loras Tyrell from the Highgarden Channel; Yara Greyjoy for Iron Islands Broadcasting; Podrick Payne for the Westerlands Post; Edmure Tully, a veteran embed, was back again covering the campaign for The Riverland Times; Essos’s Meereen Broadcasting Company had sent Hizdahr zo Loraq for the third time. (Last election, he gained notoriety for asking Baratheon detailed trade questions that the president was either reluctant or unable to answer.) The podcaster was some snot named Ramsay Bolton whose show was called Ram Radio; Daenerys had only spoken to him once so far, but that had been enough for her to determine that she’d never hated anyone more in her life. 

But all of the embeds — even Ramsay — were reasonably well-known bylines or on-air reporters. The only name she _didn’t_ recognize was Winterfell News’s road warrior: A young, gloomy-looking man named Jon Snow.

She’d never heard of him in her _life. _A position as a campaign embed was a coveted role. Typically, they went to reporters who had spent at least a few years at their outlet, networking with the higher-ups and building bridges across the show teams. 

Daenerys made it a point to know who her competition would be, and Jon Snow hadn't been on the radar of people to keep on her radar. He was a surprise, and she hated surprises.

Jon had arrived the prior evening, lugging what appeared to be a rather small amount of personal effects, considering they’d be on the trail so long. He had messy dark curls, a slightly wrinkled button-up and a DSLR draped around his neck.

Most appallingly of all, he was attractive.

A bit frazzled with her own line of thinking, Dany had gone hunting for his previous work. 

His social media presence was pathetic, but he had a portfolio available.

Before she saw his website, she'd been irritated with herself for not knowing who he was. Once she clicked on his portfolio, that irritation transformed to horror. His awards page was _ridiculously_ long. 

She barely had time to analyze them before Jon wandered by her and into the inn’s raucous bar. Dany clicked out of the page quickly (before he could catch her snooping) and returned to scribing her Day 4 recap post.

By the time he was safely inside, she'd calmed a bit.

It didn’t matter how many prizes Jon Snow had — or any of the other embeds, for that matter. Daenerys was here to make a name for herself, and to do that, she would crush them all.

* * *

**JON**

“That’s not how any of this works,” she said with a sniff as she dropped down beside him. “You can’t _demand_ that the president stay for more questions. You’re lucky they didn’t throw you off the bus.”

Dany Targaryen was one of the most aggravating women he’d ever met in his life.

Gorgeous. _Brilliant_. One of the hardest workers he’d ever seen.

But so. bloody. aggravating.

He’d somehow made an enemy of her on his first official day covering the campaign, and she hadn’t stopped needling him in the two weeks since.

Truth be told, Jon had just been trying to help her.

Dany was taping a standup to wire back to DSN, and Jon happened to pass by. 

Her voice carried across the grounds, clear and bright. “Arthur, I’m here in Storm’s End where Robert Baratheon has _just _completed his latest campaign rally. He kicked things off today…” she paused, frustrated at her stumble, he assumed. “Fuck,” she spat as she moved to reset.

Jon could see the shot in her preview screen. Even from here, he could tell that the camera was a bit off-center, and she’d probably forgotten to white balance.

He’d just wanted to _help_.

“You’re framed up all wrong,” he said, moving to adjust her camera. 

The look she had given him could only be described with the scale they used to rank venomous snakes.

“I know how to frame myself up, you twit,” she replied, striding over and slapping his hand away.

He could actually feel his eyes narrowing. “Apparently not, because your shot looks like shit.”

Dany scowled.

“Don’t you have like four viewers to tape your own standup for?” she shot back at him.

Jon rolled his eyes and thrusted his palm in her general direction. “Alright then, princess. Go ahead. Tape your standup. I’ll just watch.”

She moved forward and readjusted her camera again — it was barely an inch, but he supposed it was slightly better than the way she’d had it before.

Her purple dress was entirely professional from the waist up, but the tight skirt had ridden up enough that the bottom of her thighs were visible.

He gave her a thumbs up as she squared her shoulders, and she flipped him off.

Jon was pretty sure that someone this irritating didn’t deserve those thighs.

This time, she made her way through the entire standup without faltering. Her sign-off was casual: “For DSN, I’m Dany Targaryen on the trail.”

She gave herself seven seconds of pad on the end of her script. When they had elapsed, she exhaled and moved to shut her camera off.

Jon clapped lazily. “Apparently all you needed to perform was an audience of one.”

Dany’s glare could burn someone alive.

He knew he shouldn’t be making an enemy this early — especially one he’d be seeing nearly every day for the next 18 moons — but gods, she was a pain.

A sexy, fiery, _vindictive_ pain, as it turned out.

She’d been after him ever since. If he made even the slightest mistake, she’d taken it upon herself to call him out for it.

And now here she was again: on the bus next to him, her sheet of blonde hair infringing into the space of his seat, despite the literal _rows_ of other options for her to choose from.

“He’s the president,” Jon replied testily. “He shouldn’t be able to half-answer two questions and then flee like we’ve lit his fat arse on fire.”

Dany literally slapped her hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“Shut up, you idiot!” she whispered with a truly dangerous look on her face. “I’m not getting barred from the press pool just because you have some holier-than-thou need to…”

Jon tuned out.

* * *

**DANY**

“On the road with Robert Baratheon’s team, I’m Jon Snow, WFN.”

Winterfell News. Why in the Seven Hells had they sent _him_ on the road? 

For the first month of their tour, she’d resisted the urge to look him back up — to compare her own resume with the long column of awards she’d glimpsed on his website. She didn’t need any knocks to her self-confidence. 

But after a full moon's time on the road, she couldn’t resist. She went to WFN’s website to look for his byline, and it seemed he’d only ever written one article.

That had blown her away. She’d cracked — gone back to his website. And there it was: That threatening resume.

Jon Snow had won almost every major prize. And it seemed like he’d covered _everything_.

The controversial election of Senator Baelish (his main competitor wound up dead days before the election), a wildfire that had burned the Sept of Baelor to ashes…

Even the death of Vice President Jon Arryn two years into Baratheon’s term.

It was obvious now that he must have been a producer prior to becoming an embed, but she couldn’t understand how that was possible.

Jon had no filter. He seemed to have no real understanding of how political reporting worked. She’d lost track of the number of times he’d accused a campaign aide of stonewalling them (to their face) — the number of times he’d shit-talked Baratheon with a senior staffer lingering just feet away. It was a wonder he'd managed to report on _anything_ without getting throw out.

She eyed him again as he broke down his equipment.

Begrudgingly, she could admit that he looked the part — Jon’s face and voice were made for television.

But gods, that stubborn attitude.

* * *

**JON**

“Hey Ram Radio, this is Ramsay Bolton coming at you from some shithole in the Riverlands. It’s Day 41 for me out here following our jackass-in-chief Robert Baratheon as he runs for a second term…”

Ramsay was the biggest asshole he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. 

And worse? He was loud about it. Right now he was rambling about the president’s latest town hall, and Jon wondered if there was anywhere in the Riverlands that couldn’t hear him.

It was driving him mad. Jon's senior producer was a man named Robett Glover who had been not-at-all-pleased to learn that Jon would be WFN's embed.

Time didn't seem to be softening the blow. He'd sent Jon three emails already asking for the status of his latest recap post. He'd been tempted not to reply at all, if he wasn't certain that would make things worse.

A sudden huff cut across his thoughts — _Dany._

She was sitting across the table from him in the hotel bar. It had become a bit of a trend for all the embeds to take up residence there after their pool schedule ended for the day. 

A chunk of blinding hair had fallen out of her latest ponytail. (She had formed and unformed one at least four times in between her staccato typing.)

But right now, she was taking a break from punching the keys on her laptop to press her fingertips into her temples. 

“Gods, I wish he’d shut the fuck up,” she said under her breath.

Jon tried not to laugh — he really did, but fuck if he didn’t feel the same way every single time Ramsay opened his mouth.

A chuckle escaped from him, and Dany nearly jumped at the sound of it. 

Then, after a few awkward moments, she gave him a tentative grin.

It was different than her on-air smile.

He thought he might prefer it.

* * *

**DANY**

“I might get another coffee,” she said.

Jon’s brow raised. “Or you could put your laptop away and have a drink with me. You’ve been working for like 13 hours straight.”

That was easy for him to say — he’d put his own computer away hours ago and was sitting across from her with his third beer.

He’d also found time to switch to a thin black tee-shirt, and she could see his biceps straining against the bottom of the sleeves.

It was part of the reason she was so far behind on her blog post, and that level of distraction was unacceptable.

Yara Greyjoy had been sitting with them earlier; but she, like Jon, was done working for the day. She’d grown bored of Dany's typing and Jon's quiet beer-sipping and had bounded off with Tyene a half-hour prior to flirt with some of the locals.

Relaxing sounded like a dream, but some of DSN’s cable-side evening shows had put in requests for her.

Jon was still waiting for her to reply.

“I’ve still got to tape look-lives for 10 and 11,” she said, yawning. “And I’ve barely started my recap post of the rally.”

The Northern man remained silent, his only response a skeptical, raised brow as he pushed his beer toward her.

Dany was pretty sure she needed to burn that shirt. First, it had distracted her from her work. Now it was making her consider drinking while reporting.

Even Jon Snow's arms weren't enough to make her forget that northern ale was awful, though.

She eyed the glass distastefully. “I told you — I have to write. And that stuff tastes terrible,” she said.

“I suppose you shouldn’t have any, then…” he said lightly. “If you’re such a lightweight that you can’t bang out 300 words after one drink, that is.”

Dany’s eyes narrowed. She hated that Jon knew her this well after just two moons, for he had surely phrased it like that specifically to make her feel like it was a challenge.

And unfortunately, that sort of behavior worked on her.

“Give me that, you absolute wank,” she said, snatching the pint from him.  As his mouth twitched up, she regretted that her tone had lacked its usual bite.

Without another word, she threw back the flagon, downing the entire thing without pausing. 

Northern ale was foul, foul, _foul — _but it was worth it.

Jon seemed to regard it as a personal failure whenever he appeared impressed by her. And right now, he did.

* * *

**JON**

Tyene had largely given up on trying to hook up with him two weeks in, but those two weeks had encapsulated a wide range of efforts.

She’d sauntered over to him a couple days into their travels, and everything about the encounter had been too much. She was _too_ close, _too_ flirty, _too_ interested. 

Plenty of embeds ended up hooking up with one another. Hells, plenty of them ended up married. But it felt like Tyene was playing a game.

Jon wasn’t here to play games.

He had never allowed women to get in the way of his job before, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Not when his family was counting on him — when Robb had put his reputation on the line for him.

He’d politely turned her advances down, and he’d done the same thing two more times over the next several days. 

Tyene had taken the hint; and with the exception an occasional, lazy attempt, she’d moved on.

Dany hadn’t.

As Jon laid in bed, he contemplated the strange relationship between the two women.

The diminutive blonde had watched all of Tyene’s initial overtures with a frosty, severe face. At the time, Jon had assumed it was because she disliked him so much.

But he had been friendly with Dany for more than a month now, and her resentment of the Dornish girl seemed to be getting worse by the day.

Jon’s next idea had been that maybe Tyene was outperforming her, but that had gone by the wayside. 

Dany broke more stories, got better quotes and had a much larger online presence than Tyene did. Her coverage was miles ahead of Sun News’s.

And yet…

When Tyene got up from the table that evening, Jon had asked generically if she was heading to bed.

“Sure am. Offer’s open if you want to come with, though,” she had replied with a wink.

And Dany had stiffened beside him.

He waved Tyene off and then turned to look at Dany. The look in her eyes was pure fury.

“You alright?” he’d asked.

“She’s just such a _tramp_,” she seethed. “I'm not sure when she even finds time to cover the campaign because all _I_ ever see her bloody do is make passes at you —” She paused for a moment, red-faced, and then spat, “and everyone else.”

For all her brilliance, it seemed Dany wasn’t the most subtle woman.

Jon needed to be careful with that. The idea of a jealous Danywas dangerous.

It was heady — it made him feel light. High, almost. 

Dany had turned out to be everything he’d initially thought of her: bright, ambitious and utterly gorgeous.But she was also funny, sneaky and charming. Even her sharp tongue ultimately amused him more than offended him.

It was like she'd been designed by the gods as some sort of Jon-specific temptress. The very idea of her feeling possessive of him… _fuck_.

He was half-hard just from the thought of it. He reached down to palm himself, her purple eyes fresh in his mind.

Jon had never let a woman distract him from his work; but if anyone could, he had a feeling it would be Daenerys Targaryen.

* * *

**DANY**

Having to ask Jon for help with her camerawork was an appalling blow to her pride; it went against every instinct she had.

But her producer had been crystal clear.

And if she had to do it, she was going to look damn good when she did.

That was what Dany told herself as she swiped some mascara and a blood-red lipstick on.

She’d gone to the mall during a rare moment of free time and bought a new dress — a casual, black one that made her ass look phenomenal.

Dany firmly ignored the fact that she would have to dispose of a different item in her bag to make room for it when they flew to their next stop in two days’ time.

After another practice round in her mirror, she made her way downstairs to where Jon was sitting and typing away.

It was a rare night that she finish work before him. When she’d submitted her article to DSN’s content management system and realized he was nowhere near done, it had felt like the stars were aligning for her.

She crossed over to him, steeling herself.

“I’ll help you verbate your man-on-the-street interviews if you teach me how to white balance,” she opened with. 

He looked up, and she ignored the pleased feeling in her stomach at the way his eyes widened as he eyed her. 

“My producer told me the editors are getting annoyed having to color-correct all my shots,” she finished.

Jon straightened up a bit. “Who says I need help verbating my interviews?” he asked curiously.

“Everyone. You’re so slow turning sound that it’s almost unreal,” she replied. “The only explanation for anyone to take that long writing a 30-second script tossing to a SOT is that you’ve either never written a script in your life or you’re shit at picking out clips.”

Dany regretted her tone almost instantly. Jon looked properly abashed; and for once, she hadn't been trying to sass him.

“It’s the scripts,” he finally muttered. “I’ve never written standups before.” 

_‘…What?_’ she thought.

That one, she needed clarity on.

“You’ve… never written a stand-up before?” she asked slowly. “Well, it’s not too different from an anchor intro. You’re just reporting on the scene instead of in a studio.”

Jon’s cheeks had become a rosier shade of pink. “Aye, well I haven’t written one of those either.”

Dany could feel her jaw sagging. “How do you become a network embed if you’ve never written for television?”

Jon ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“I got sent here by accident, basically. My brother Robb was supposed to be our network’s Baratheon embed. I’m a cameraman. But I love to write. I submitted an article for the first time, and the politics editor liked my story. It went viral. The next day, Robb broke his leg, and all hell broke loose. Baratheon started his rallies the day after that, and Robb obviously couldn’t fly out. He pushed for me to take his spot, and here I am.”

She blanched. A cameraman.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized his name. All those awards he had were for his camera work.

She had beaten out more than a hundred applicants to be DSN’s presidential road warrior, and Jon Snow had _literally _gotten his job by mistake.

Her eye twitched.

All his tips about how she should be framing herself up looked much different from this side of the line.

Jon seemed prepared for her to snap at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but his eyes were hard and defiant.

She tilted her head and analyzed him. For once, she didn’t feel a burning need to criticize.

“Okay…” she finally responded. “New deal. You help me learn to white balance, and I’ll teach you how to write a script.”

His eyes widened a bit, but then he nodded. 

“Alright.”

Fifteen minutes later, he handed her the first draft of a practice script. Just from eyeing it, she could tell it was closer to 50 seconds than 30.

Jon was trying to look unconcerned, but she could tell that he was nervous for her review.

Dany couldn’t find it in her to crush that mopey face of his.

“This is a bit long, but it’s a good start,” she settled on.

At the next table over, Podrick was tapping away steadily on his laptop, a glass of water dripping condensation onto the table. The puddle of it was inching frighteningly close to his computer.

She looked back to meet Jon’s eyes again.

In this light, they looked silver.

* * *

**JON**

Dany had fallen asleep. 

Her head lolled over onto his shoulder, the blonde strands mussing in a way he wasn’t used to.

He shut her computer screen gently and pulled it off her lap, placing it on the coffee table in front of them.

They’d moved over to the couch in front of the fireplace a few hours earlier to work. Despite the sharp exterior, she was a surprisingly good teacher.

Patient. Encouraging.

Generous with her time. She’d worked with him until she literally fell asleep from exhaustion.

He wondered what it would be like to do this job if he'd had someone like her on the other end of his IFB. 

Glover had become even more insufferable in recent days. Now that Robb's cast was removed, he'd been pushing to bring Jon home and send his brother out instead.

He supposed it would be fair, considering it had been Robb's position... but still. There was something distinctly condescending about the whole matter.

Dany readjusted herself in her sleep, drawing his attention back. Part of him — a big part — wanted to let her rest, leave her leaning against him. 

A bigger part knew she’d slaughter him if he let her sleep in full view of President Baratheon’s aides (or the other embeds, for that matter).

He took just one moment for himself to study her the way he didn’t dare do when she was awake. 

She had nearly knocked him off his barstool showing up in the lounge looking like she did. All he wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder and carry her into a room, any room, and stay there for as long as possible.

He hadn’t had a full day off in more than a month; Robett Glover could go fuck himself.

But all too soon, his greedy moment ended.

“Dany,” he whispered, nudging her gently. “Come on, you should get to bed.”

She mumbled something that sounded like ‘shut up’ and nestled further into his arm. Her skin was hot enough that he could feel it through his shirt.

“Nice try, princess,” he murmured, nudging her again. “You left your laptop open. Get up, or I’m stealing your pitch.”

This time, one violet eye did open. She appraised him with the distaste of a wet cat.

“Try it, and I’ll kill you.”

He smiled at her brightly. “If you’re awake enough to threaten me, you’re awake enough to get up.”

Dany had grumbled a bit more before straightening up. “Was I asleep long?” she asked.

“Not very,” he replied. “Just a couple minutes.”

She was a bit flushed — blushing, if he didn’t know better. “Sorry I fell asleep on top of you.”

_‘Of course she’d phrase it like that_,’ he thought. 

Dany on top of him wouldn’t require an apology; it would require balloons.

“Come on. I’m gonna head to bed anyway; I’ll walk you to your room,” he said.

They gathered up their things and made their way to the stairs. Jon tried to ignore Ramsay’s fiendish smirk and raised eyebrow, but he could feel it burning in his back.

He tried to dislodge the thought. There were so many better things to focus on — like Dany’s arse, round and full, swaying as she walked directly in front of him.

* * *

**DANY**

The walk back to her room had been completely silent. Normally, she hated silence.

But this was different. It was… comfortable.

They were staying at a Dornish inn — the whole place wasn’t more than three floors. He didn’t really need to walk her back. 

Jon was just _nice_. 

She’d come to that conclusion a while back, but this was the first time she’d really grappled with the fact that if not for him, she’d probably be miserable and lonely out here.

She video-chatted with her brothers regularly, and she was in near-constant communication with her coworkers back at DSN… but there was no substitute for human interaction.

Loras was a ponce. Edmure might be worse. Hizdahr had hit on her almost incessantly since learning that Rhaegar Targaryen, a prominent network anchor, was her brother. Podrick was nice enough, but she couldn’t share more than casual conversation with him. Yara was a fun drinking buddy, but she also had little regard for Dany’s self-imposed curfews. The less said about Ramsay, the better. And Tyene… Dany had no interest in spending time with her, even if she had finally accepted that her dislike mainly stemmed from jealousy.

Which lead her back to Jon Snow.

Jon, who really _was_ right to say that they were getting shafted into asking the president stupid questions in order to keep their access.

Jon, who fixed a rival reporter’s camera shot, just because.

Jon, whose low voice gave her chills and kept her up late into the night, fingers sliding beneath her covers to quench an ache that wouldn't leave her.

Jon, who was at her door. 

Bringing him inside would probably be a terrible idea.

She should really go to bed.  Alone.

Dany turned to face him — he hadn’t moved an inch.

“Well…” she started.

“Yeah,” he murmured. 

_That voice again_.

“Good, uh, goodnight,” she mumbled back.

For a moment, it looked as though he was going to be braver than her — to say something. But then he swallowed it down, and the moment passed.

With no excuse left to stay, she retreated into her room. Just crossing the threshold made her feel colder.

She turned back just before closing her door.

Jon’s eyes were so intense that she felt as though she’d been stripped naked.

“Goodnight, Dany,” he said, his voice low and sounding inescapably dirty.

_Gods_, she was wet.

She closed the door.

* * *

**JON**

Jon had never been more disappointed in himself for letting a moment pass than he was in this one.

He turned to head down the hall toward his own room, half-drunk still from the memory of her heaving chest teasing the neckline of her dress.

He should’ve done something. Should’ve said something.

“Jon,” a high, clear voice called from behind him. He jolted around, and there was Dany in her doorway, where he’d just left her moments before. She was smiling at him softly. “Would you... do you want to come in?”

_Holy fucking hells, yes_.

It felt like all of the blood in his body had rushed south in a single instant.

He wasn’t sure he could actually reply. He just walked over to where Dany stood, dazed.

Then she held out her hand; he took it and followed her in.

Dany gently placed her laptop on the nightstand, plugging it and her cell phone in.

His entire body felt like it was vibrating with anticipation. She crossed back over to him and came to a halt inches away, her bright eyes staring up at him.

“Jon,” she said softly.

The dam broke.

In one swift movement, he wrapped an arm around her waist and threaded his other hand into her hair, pulling it in to meld their lips together.

She tasted like spearmint.

Dany made a mewling sound into his mouth and it sent a roll down his spine. She’d pulled him closer, too, until there wasn’t an ounce of space between them.

Jon wondered how long he’d wanted this for — maybe a month into the trail, or maybe he had the entire time.

He was wrenched from the thought by the feeling of her fingers clawing at his button-up. And then everything became a bit of a blur.

One moment, he was sliding his hand down from her waist to (finally) grope at her arse. The next, they were stumbling toward her bed as she shoved his shirt from his shoulders.

They fell onto the mattress with her beneath him — that sinful black dress of hers shoved up to her hips. 

He chanced a look at her underwear and felt his cock stiffen. Black and red lace.

Without a word, he leaned forward against her, attaching his lips firmly to her neck while he ran his fingers over her soaked thong.

She was whimpering as he slid a finger inside her, and even he jerked hard at the feeling of her around his digit, hot and tight.

But it seemed Dany had hit her limits for being out of control. With surprising strength, she rolled him over, undoing his belt deftly and shoving his pants down. Her mouth was around him before he had time to process what was happening.

Jon’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Her lips were like a vice, wet and swollen. 

“Dany,” he mumbled — all he could manage — and to his horror, his voice broke halfway through it.

In no time, he could feel the pressure well up inside him; he pulled her up and toward him, fusing their lips again.

This time, he flipped her back beneath him, unable to stop himself from biting at her neck. He felt like an animal, like one of the wolves on his family’s crest.

“Need to be inside you,” he managed. Dany just arched her back, still grabbing at his hair, pulling him closer to her.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “Now.”

He lined himself up and slid his cock into her.

_Fucking hells_.

She was sopping wet and so bloody _tight_. His eyelids squeezed in reflex.

He thrusted again and she made a keening noise, clenching harder around him. Again and again, until neither of them could speak.

Until she lost herself with a cry — until he followed her into the abyss, winded and worked over and utterly boneless.

There wasn’t a single thing in the world he’d rather do than fuck Daenerys Targaryen in her spartan hotel room.

* * *

**DANY**

Jon woke just before dawn — the digital clock on the nightstand read 5:03 a.m.

She had been awake for about half an hour now, sitting crosslegged with her laptop open and a hastily-tied bun pulling her hair from her eyes.

Dany hadn’t bothered dressing yet — she sat in nothing but a black pair of underwear. The page she was reading seemed more important than a shirt.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” she murmured, sliding her hand over to his chest to grip his. It was warm. “New poll out of the Reach. Selmy’s plus-6 with merchant voters.”

Jon blinked, eyes widening.

In one smooth motion, he pulled himself up and leaned over behind her, pulling her against his chest as he peered at the screen.

“_Six_ points up?” he asked. “Those are supposed to be Robert’s voters. What’s the margin?”

She arched back a bit and turned to face him, eyes bright. “Only two.” 

Jon physically reeled, and she caught it, pleased that his reaction was the same as hers had been.

“I know,” Dany said. “He’s fucked if this continues.”

Jon just nodded — there wasn’t much else to say, she supposed.

She tried not to preen too much; her brother told her she always did when someone agreed with one of her analyses. But Dany wasn’t sure she was succeeding.

Then one of his hands came up to rub itself around a taut nipple, and her mind went blank. 

Her focus turned entirely toward the feeling spreading down through her stomach and jolting her core.

They’d had one another three times last night, but the smallest touch from him had set her aflame again.

“Speaking of fucked,” Jon said ungracefully, “How long do I have before you insist on filing a story?”

She eyed him for a moment, seriously weighing the question.

“I don’t suppose you’d be content to fuck me while I type?”

He snorted, seeming unable to stop himself.

“Feel free to try, Dany, but I guarantee you’re not gonna be able to write a single sentence.”

Jon was looking at her the way a predator would look at their prey.

She was already wet, but there was nothing she liked more than a challenge. 

“Deal,” she replied.

“How long have I got once you fail?” he asked again.

Without another word, she flopped onto her stomach and pulled open the CMS page. Tauntingly, she wiggled her underwear-clad ass with a raised brow before striking at her keyboard.

Jon, it turned out, took challenges very seriously.

She lost within minutes, her last coherent thought being to shut her laptop before she accidentally published an article comprised solely of “A new poll released todazzzzzxicivb88ffduhuhihiuhih.” 

Normally, Dany hated to lose more than anything in the world; but as she convulsed around Jon’s cock, she couldn't find it in her heart to be disappointed.

* * *

**JON**

Another month on the trail. Another night spent sleeping on a bus.

Dany had pushed the armrest in their row up and had cajoled him into sitting with his back against the wall of the bus.

Then she’d curled into the space between his legs, laying against him.

“I didn’t think it would bother me this much, being on the road,” she whispered into his shirt. “Sometimes you’re the only thing that feels real.”

He knew what she meant.

Only other embeds could, really. 

City after city. Night after night. Plane after plane. Story after story. Diner after diner. Rally after rally.

A different inn. A different bus. 

Lunch just a bag of chips — unless you had to skip that to go recharge your camera’s battery.

Missing your friends’ birthdays. Your sister’s graduation.

Outside the bus window, fields flew by. There wasn’t a light for miles.

Jon tucked his head on top of Dany’s and pressed a featherlight kiss to her hair. In the dark, it shone like it was his own personal moon.

“You are for me, too.”

* * *

**DANY**

“Happy birthday, Jon!” she exclaimed.

She’d gotten up even earlier than usual — had feigned a cough the night before to excuse herself and head to bed without him. (A tricky endeavor these days, given they had spent nearly every night together for the last two moons.)

For such an occasion, Dany had decided that she needed to make an exception to her hatred and plot with Tyene. Of the other Baratheon embeds, the Dornish girl was frankly the only one she trusted with any sort of mission.  Especially an important one.

She'd approached Tyene earlier in the evening, while Jon was showering.

"Dany," the girl said as she walked up. "Interesting. Are you finally speaking to me?"

She pushed down the urge to rise to Tyene's bait. "I suppose I had to eventually."

One perfectly sculpted brow lifted toward her hairline. "And why is 'eventually' right now?"

Dany steeled herself. "Tomorrow's Jon's birthday. I want to surprise him; but if I'm gone for any length of time, he'll notice. I was wondering if you'd be willing to pick up a few, er... _supplies_," she finished.

It had taken little real negotiation in the end. Tyene hadn't asked for anything in return; she'd just insisted on explaining (in detail) what a troll Dany had been to her.

"If you're waiting for an apology, you're not getting one," Dany finally said. "Watching you hit on Jon would have been the absolute worst part of my days, if not for the fact that Ramsay refuses to record inside his room."

"At least I'm better than Bolton," Tyene said, her lips twitching. "Fine. I'll get what you need. But just so you know, I'm only doing this because Jon is nice. Whatever that was is _not_ how asking for help is supposed to work."

"That's true," she admitted, eyes roving over her Dornish counterpart again. Her gaze landed on Tyene's laptop.

Sighing, Dany pulled out her phone and texted the girl an audio file. 

When the message landed, Tyene looked up at her, confused.  "What is this?"

"Me saying thank you. Lancel Lannister's an idiot. He was on the phonetoday_ in public_ talking about how he asked Cersei to pressure Tyrion into resigning as National Security Adviser. You can't publish the audio, but I'll give you an hour head-start on me to write up an article."

Tyene looked amazed, but she'd smiled at Dany at last.

And begrudgingly, she had to admit that Tyene had come through. She'd gotten every last thing on Dany's list and had smuggled it all inside... even the largest and most uncooperative part.

Dany eyed her 'present' again.  It was fortunate that Jon wasn’t the type to show up to her room unannounced, or all her subterfuge would've been for nothing.

She awoke on her alarm’s first ring and slammed a hand down to stop it quickly, cognizant of both the Stark family’s tendency to wake at slight noises and her alarm’s ability to blare across continents.

Dany spent an hour or so quietly decorating her room before sneaking down to the kitchen. It had taken a while to convince the hotel owner to let her back there, but she eventually browbeat her way in.

Freshly baked cake in hand, she crept back upstairs to her room and freshened up.

It was barely 8am, but she texted him anyway.

**To: Jon S.  
** **You up ;)? Come to my room.**

His reply was almost instantaneous. 

**From: Jon S.  
** **Did you really just “you up?” me at 8am????**

Nevertheless, a knock on her door came just a couple minutes later.

When she let him in, Jon was entirely stunned.

There was all sorts of absurd birthday paraphernalia covering every inch of her room: A birthday cake on the table, candles shoved into it and lit.  There were streamers. 

There were even balloons.

And there, on a chair next to the cake, was his sister Arya.

"Hey, Jon," she waved as he stopped dead in his tracks.

When Jon met Dany’s eyes again, they were watery. The intensity in them took her breath away.

* * *

**JON**

It was sort of ridiculous that after nearly 12 months of hard work, little-to-no sleep and endlessly chasing leads, it would be hooking up with a rival embed that would most likely win them all of the awards journalism had to offer.

Dany and he had been misbehaving at the day’s rally. Every day, Barristan Selmy’s lead got a bit stronger, and the president’s response had been to become more and more unhinged in his speeches.

Covering it was beyond tedious; it felt borderline inappropriate.

Broadcasting any of this to the North would be insulting, and his working relationship with his boss had reached a record low.

So if he chose to leave his camera on its tripod and spend the rest of the rally texting his girlfriend filthy descriptions of what he was going to do to her that evening, then so be it.

And given that Dany’s defining trait was her hatred of any situation in which she held a disadvantage, she’d returned fire. 

The end result had been that he was hard as a rock, and her breathing had become a bit unsteady. All the while, the president shouted belligerently in the background.

The literal moment Baratheon finished speaking, they’d started packing up. There was a press availability today (a real sign, if nothing else, that the Baratheon camp was concerned), and the president would probably be there for another half-hour.

Jon could not give less shits if he tried. He’d already decided to tell Glover that he hadn’t been given access that day.

It seemed that Dany was of the same mind. She’d practically thrown everything in her camera bag. Hells, even her phone was tossed inside it.

With their equipment broken down in record time, they sprinted back to the hotel. Tarth  was a small island, and it only had a few of them. Presidential-caliber lodgings were even fewer and farther between.

That meant the embeds had to share rooms, but it also meant they were in the same hotel as the president and his family.

Jon would’ve thought that staying under the same roof as a horde of reporters would inspire some caution… which is why it was so incredible when Dany and he pulled open the door to the hotel’s library.

Robert Fucking Baratheon was being cuckolded by his wife’s _brother_.

Dany seemed shocked beyond response, but Jon was a cameraman. 

Reflexively, he pulled his phone out and snapped photos before he even processed what he was seeing.

Then Cersei caught sight of them and shrieked. Jaime Lannister’s face had gone whiter than a ghost's.

Dany was still just standing in the doorway, jaw open. Without another thought, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away, running back to the main lobby while Cersei shouted at Jaime to arrest them.

He had never been so exhilarated — so shocked — in his life.

Once they made it through the reception area and out the front doors, a laugh burst out of his throat. It sounded wild. 

It sounded free.

"_Gods, _Dany, can you believe it? Right in the damned library and all."

But when he finally turned to look at his girlfriend, she looked near tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice sobering.

Her voice was hoarse. “The biggest story of my career, and I froze. I did nothing. I won't even be able to follow up on your report. I’ve got no proof. Nothing.”

_Fuck._

“I don’t care about breaking the story first," he said quickly. "You can have it, Dany. It’s yours. I'll do the follow.”

“It’s your photo,” she said morosely. “I’ve got nothing to back myself up. I can’t believe I didn’t even have my cell phone. I’m _dead_ when my boss hears about this. And Rhaegar...”

He tried to argue, to tell her that it would be alright. That her brother wouldn’t judge her for having left her cell in her camera bag. That her bosses wouldn’t fire her.

Dany’s shellshocked look had been bad enough, but worse by far was that she soon began trying to look happy for him. 

She managed to sound sincere when she insisted he would knock the story out of the park, but he’d seen her smile a thousand times over the last year.

This wasn’t one of them.

Jon thought of Robett Glover and his disapproval.

Then he thought of Robb during their last video chat, glowing as he commended him for how much his scripts had improved over the last few months.  In his head, he whispered a silent apology.

“We’ll share it,” he said abruptly. “We can report it together.”

For the briefest moment, Dany looked pensive. Then her face dropped again.  “We can’t co-report, Jon — we work for different companies. And if you let me break a story with your photo, then _you’re_ dead.”

“I’ll send it to your phone, then,” he insisted.  But Dany was just shaking her head.

She grabbed his face with both hands and leaned in to kiss him gently. Her voice was sincere. Firm.  “It’s alright, Jon. It’s got to be you.”

Her curls looked more white than blonde in the sunlight.

“I love you, Dany,” he said suddenly. “So much.”

She softened further. “And I love you.”

“I mean it,” he said seriously. “You’re it for me.”

She eyed him for a brief moment, confused. At last, her lip twitched up and she smiled. A real one. 

“Well, of course, you fool. You’re it for me, too.”

* * *

**DANY**

That stupid, insane, ludicrous, _wonderful_ dolt.

How many times had she told herself that Jon was a green fool who didn’t understand the way political reporting worked?

Whatever the number was, it seemed it hadn’t been enough, because she’d almost dropped dead of heart failure when Arthur Dayne’s senior producer, Alysanne Velaryon, had dialed her to ask what in the Seven Hells had just been emailed to them.

Jon had left her at the table at the coffee shop they’d taken refuge inside of, allegedly to grab another latte — though it seemed clear now that was a lie.

Dany had been engrossed in her phone — Tyene was texting her Cersei updates, saying the first lady was still rampaging around the hotel screaming at random passerby to find them. Robert, for his part, didn’t seem to understand what had happened yet.

“I… what do you mean?” she asked weakly.

Alysanne’s voice was shrill. “Is this a photo of Cersei Baratheon AND HER BROTHER?”

She realized she hadn’t managed to choke out a response when Alysanne shouted again: “Why would WFN’s reporter email me this!? Is this real?!”

“I…” she trailed off. “Alysanne, I’ll call you back in one second.”

She clicked off the call over the woman’s protests and looked up. Jon was standing in front of her, sheepish.

“What. Did. You. Do?” she asked, floored.

“Well… DSN might have received an email of the photo,” he replied awkwardly. At her stunned silence, Jon continued: “And it may have had my resume attached, because I’m pretty sure I’m getting fired the moment my boss hears.”

Dany was beyond words.

She blathered out something incoherent that might have been "why would you do this," but Jon just leaned down and kissed her.

When he pulled away, his hand was still cupping her jaw. It felt like being home.

“I love you, Dany,” he said. “Remember?”

She nodded, eyes bright and wet. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

They sat like that for one minute — all they could honestly spare — and then Dany called Alysanne back to assure her that the photo was real. (The explanation of why Jon would give it to their network had been almost criminally awkward to tell.) 

By the time she was done, Jon had come back inside from calling his brother. His face was a bit pale.

“Robb didn’t take it well?” she asked nervously.

Jon ran a hand through his curls. “He wasn’t thrilled, but we'll be alright. Glover, on the other hand…” he trailed off. “I expected his reaction, but still.”

She locked herself in the bathroom a few minutes later, whispering furiously into the phone.

Dany had never — _never_ — taken advantage of her brother’s fame before, but there was a first time for everything.

* * *

**JON**

One hour later, on Tarth’s oceanfront boardwalk, they delivered their report.

“Arthur, I’m here with shocking news from the Baratheon trail — DSN can now report and confirm that there is marital chaos in the Iron Office. Earlier this evening, this reporter witnessed the first lady in an _intimate_ embrace with her own brother, Red Keep Head of Security Jaime Lannister…”

By the time the segment was concluded, it was as though they’d burned the Red Keep to the ground. The entire internet was on fire.

Jon watched Dany from the corner of his eye while they waited to be cleared — she looked like she could vibrate into the air.

The moment they were cleared, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him hard.

When she pulled away, her eyes were blazing.

“I regret to inform you that I’m banning your ridiculous parka from my apartment in Dragonstone,” she said lightly. “Also your shirts. All your shirts are banned.”

He laughed. “Got it. No coat. No shirts. Anything else?”

Dany nodded solemnly. “No pants either, I’m afraid.”

He kissed her again, ignoring his phone as it buzzed over and over in his pocket.

He could hear Arthur Dayne’s voice signing off as it came across their IFBs: “That was DSN’s Dany Targaryen and our newest reporter, Jon Snow, from the trail.”

* * *

_“This just in: President Robert Baratheon announced today that he’s divorcing his wife, First Lady Cersei Lannister. The move formalizing what’s been a de facto separation since news broke that…”_

* * *

_“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s official. Barristan Selmy has been elected president of Westeros. The results from the North put him over the necessary votes to win. Selmy, a popular six-term senator, began the campaign as an underdog, but a series of blunders from the Baratheon camp gave him the push he needed…”_

* * *

**300 AC Iron Throne Awards**

**Outstanding Continuing Coverage of a News Story** \- _Sun News - Arianne Martell (The Dornish Draught)_

**Outstanding Investigative Report in a Newscast** _ \- Highgarden Channel - Willas Tyrell (Poison Plants: Westeros's Food Supply)  
_

**Outstanding** **Documentary** \- _Winterfell News - Alys Karstark (North of the Wall)_

**Outstanding News Discussion & Analysis** \- _Dragonstone News__ \- Rhaegar Targaryen (The 300 AC Election)_

**Outstanding Live Interview_ \- _** _Dragonstone News - Rhaegar Targaryen (Tywin Lannister)_

** Outstanding Coverage of a Breaking News Story_ \- _ ** _Dragonstone News - Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen (The Lannister Affair)_

**Author's Note:**

> SELMY 2020.


End file.
